Povey Prattle

Some of you will remember my care for Randie, a Swedish born woman whom I encounter from time to time on my peregrinations with Penne.   She is a delightful person who enjoys the natural world and "takes time to smell the roses", Some of you will also know that I had not seen her in over a year, and that I worried about her.  The fact is that I knew only her first name, and that she lived in nearby condominium complex (which has more that three hundred units in five building)s. Of course I could have rung up to three hundred door bells in order to track her down, but most likely I would have been expelled on suspicion of being a Mormon or a Jehovah's Witness. (We have strict "no soliciting" rules in many condominium developments in FL). To my great relief I met up again with Randie earlier this year. She gave me her business card -  thus I got to know her last name, and her 'phone number, So it was that I 'phoned Randie last week...

Some of you will remember my previous "Povey Prattle" postings about Betty M -  a wonderful octogenarian ex-marine who lives in  the nearby community which is called Glen Oaks Manor. Betty and I first encountered each other with a smile and a nod as I walked my dog Penne.  Then we moved on to saying "good morning" or "good afternoon". In due course we stopped in our walks and had friendly chats.  Those chats led us into a gentle and gracious friendship.  We are very fond of each other. Did I tell you that Betty is a widow?,  Or that she is of Irish heritage?  Or that she has a daughter, and three sons, one of whom lived with her in recent years. He was a splendid fellow who died from terrible cancer? (His name was Stephen.  He and I had lovely chats as we walked, long before his fatal illness). Did I tell you that Betty is a great admirer of Penne (my dog)? With all that said and done,  and   since I have not seen Betty in a ...

Photo via my friend David S

From a friend who lives in  Somerville MA   The absurdity of trying, and failing, to help a stranger: On my way home this evening, I saw an elderly man with an arm in a sling and a cane, trying to push a shopping cart. When I offered to help, he said "Thank you, Thank you!" Little did I know, that was the only English he spoke. So, I pushed his shopping cart and we shuffled along, about a block every 15 minutes. Where are you going? ... "Thank you, Thank you." What is your address? "Thank you, Thank you." Looking him over, I guessed that he might speak Haitian Creole, so I called a friend to translate - and got her voice-mail. Frustrated, I hailed a Haitian-looking bus driver and asked if he spoke Creole. Yes! And he recognized this man! Rather than ask directly, he told me he knew which street the man lived on, which was 5 blocks on the other side of the Davis Square. So, I asked him to tell the man that I would get my car to drive hi...

"But I don't want to be dependent" . This is a phrase which I heard over and over again from older parishioners who were dealing with increasing physical limitations, but did not want to "be a burden" to their children, grandchildren, or dear friends. Of course I would remind them that "once upon a time"  their children (when young) had been very dependent on them, but although my reminders were historically true they were emotionally unhelpful. The truth is that we all have been utterly dependent on other people since our births .  We have always been dependent upon our parent/s, our siblings, our communities which provided schooling, public transportation, roads, street lights, gas, electricity, water etc. etc. etc.  We took those dependencies for granted. We cannot live without being dependent. But being dependent in older years can be tough.  It can make us feel less than worthwhile because we are not doing our bit.  We also fear that ...

In a dream three nights ago I was driving west on the Mohawk trail (Route 2) in Massachusetts. I began to drive down the steep hill from the famous hair-pin bend on Route 2 towards North Adams.   I noticed a downed tree covering half of the roadway and decided that I should notify the authorities in North Adams so that cyclists would be warned of danger. But as you might imagine from your own dreams there was no North Adams. Instead my dream took me instantly into Williamstown, MA and to the Parish Hall at St. John’s Episcopal Church. I was so relieved since (in truth) the Rector of St. John’s is my good friend Peter Elvin and I knew that he would notify some authority or other. Of course in dreamland it was not the actual parish hall. Rather it was an oblong inner room with wonderful interior brick work. My Trinity Church Melrose MA colleague Bruce Lomas was in the room. (In real life he is a cyclist). He and another Priest were summoned into a side room for...